Snape Victorious
by Anita Garibaldi
Summary: The world is celebrating Harry Potter. But he has a heart of his own. A heart that now is aching to come to an understanding with the man he saved from poisoning 5 years ago. And now that man is poisoning the victor's mind. Warning: d/s,BDSM, strong lang
1. Victory Hall

The people in the Victory Hall were feeling particularly victorious that night. Well, almost all the people, for even some of those who did not want to be feeling anything at all felt a bit smug. That was, after all, the purpose of the room itself. The night following the ultimate demise of Lord Voldemort a group of very talented (and allegedly very drunk) wizards decided to celebrate by creating a new section within the Ministry of Magic.

And it was, by all means, a victorious room. The red and gold surface made it majestic, while the _fresco_ walls made it prod. It was open, with a grand ground floor and impressive windows. It was also private, in a way, because of the three levels of balconies that hosted small rooms for those who felt like celebrating in private away from the prying eyes of their bosses (and, most pressingly, their mothers). It was meant to make everyone feel accomplished or, should that be impossible, at least hiked up on adrenaline. _Because, after all, that is what the self-celebration of past accomplishments __is always about:__ relieving terrible events in a sa__f__e environment, __away from the real shit._

On a rather wet spring evening, Harry Potter was entering the Victory Hall for the fifth time, contemplating the fact that the passing of the years made it harder. It was, after all, the curse of the hero. He was supposed to be the proud guest of honour, the leader. Only this time, not a leader of doom but a leader of happiness, prosperity and whatever sappy crap the Daily Prophet could come up with. _I should have brought a kitten and claimed to have saved it from a dog, or rescued it from a tree. The papers would have gone bonkers, teen-aged witches would have squealed and menopausal witches would have wept. Maybe next year, if I get to keep my hide for that long._

Bloody May-the-Second. It wasn't even a date any more. It was a name, like Christmas, Easter, or Boxing Day. It was a thing. It was a curse. It was torture, and of the worst kind. He had to spend all evening listening to people thanking him, signing fucking autographs, being led to way too many dances with way too many more women then he was comfortable with. He had to give a speech, only to be rewarded by having to listen to ten other speeches. _Merlin I hope I'll manage to skip it this year. Maybe a group of rouge Death Eaters will attack the Hall. Or the goblins will start a new rebellion, old Binns would be so pleased._

And, most cruel of all, he had to this when all he craved was to crawl in a hole and die of a thousand silences.

One would think that at the end of a bloody war, people would want to spend some time contemplating nature, reading philosophy, or whatever it is that people do when dealing with the horrors of warfare. With the sense of loss, with the blood, with the gaping holes in their hearts that were like piercing stabs in the soul.

But, Harry thought despondently, this was true only for the fighters. Only for those who put their life and, most importantly, their loved ones, on the line. Those who gambled everything, and lost everything, no matter the final outcome. _Nobody wins fuckers, we just have to try not to lose everything. _Those celebrating, those morons who build the Hall-For-Posh-Ministry-Cowards knew nothing of victory. Nothing of the pain and guilt it carried. And how could they, when all their contributions to the war had been memos complimenting one another on the bureaucratic swiftness of the resulting paperwork?

The first time Harry entered the Victory Hall was right after its creation. Prizes were given, speeches were made. But at least all the warriors had stuck together, frowning at the absurdity of it all, longing for the peace and quiet necessary to nurture their sorrows. _Or maybe just the privacy to cry some more. Or the luxury to stare at a blank nothingness for hours and days, hoping to lessen their pain in an artificial void of emotion. Or simply drown all of it in bad Firewhiskey and tears, instead of cheering with priced Champagne and pretend to enjoy it all.  
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Unfortunately year after year, those who shared Harry's uneasiness and downright scorn were getting fewer and fewer. All the pain, all the guilt were getting progressively replaced by a feeling of accomplishment, of victory. Oh, the irony. The fucking irony. Even his best friends now were waiting for the day in which they could celebrate their greatness.

Not that they were not great. Hermione had her academic accomplishments in Arithmancy, Ron was not-so-slowly escalating Ministry positions. And, of course, they had each other and a marriage that worked despite the incredulity of those around them. Well, not all of them. Well, actually mainly Harry. And probably Mr. Weasley Not that he would say anything about it anyway. And then there was Neville, a proud Professor with a knack for positively disturbing plants. Ginny, always busy with her stellar Quidditch career and her navigation of a seemingly endless stream of lovers, much to the dismay of Mrs. Weasley. Not the she would quit nagging about it anyway. And Luna, barmy Luna, the sanest of them all, walking through life with the same carelessness and perception than before the war. The only one who hadn't changed. The only one who still left radishes and flying nuts on each and every grave before coming here on Victory Day. The only one to still arrived here without uniforms, or medals, or expensive clothes. _Well, she did receive the medals. But apparently she was ambushed by Nargles on her way home five years ago, and they are still keeping all of them for ransom, Merlin bless her._

So, yes, his friends were great people. So great that they recovered so fast. So great that they were able to forget. To move on. To turn a blind eye on the white tombs that were supposed to be honoured and mourned, especially on this day. But all of them today were here to celebrate. To feel victorious. To leave his side and go and mingle with high officials, rich stuck-up cowards, secluded academics and the downright stupid selection of the general population that decided, on their own free will, to attend this farce. _Or, in Luna's case, to campaign for the preservation of some unlikely endangered magical species. At least she provides much needed distraction from all the bullshitting everyone seems so keen on doing these days..._

"And here I thought you'll be grumpy tonight!" an annoying voice snapped behind him.

"A warm good evening to you too Ron" Harry replicated trying to sound calm, relaxed and whatever he was supposed to feel in this fucking situation.

"Harry!" was the last thing he heard before being engulfed in a vicious death grip.

"Bloody... Hermione didn't we agree on a suitable distinction between hugging and strangling. Or you know, we could simply shake hands." He was trying to sound sarcastic, but in truth in the last years he had developed an aversion to being touched. It was probably because nobody really did touch him nowadays. Not that there weren't offers, he could hardly get to his office at Auror Headquarters in the mornings without being asked out on a date by languid women and gold-digging men. They all made him feel dirty. Unworthy. Soiled. _Or maybe I am just not cut off for a romantic sunset ending. I've seen way to much pain to not carry some on my back. God, I am almost as bitter as Snape.  
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"You know Harry" Hermione managed to sound more and more like McGonagall as the years went on "if I didn't know any better I'd think you don't want your friends to love you".

_Some friends. More like traitors._ "Well, you see, it's hard to love someone who blackmails you and pesters you for months in order to force you to attend a stupid, obnoxious, useless, classist fea..." Harry had to stop his rant and gasp for air after the synchronised elbows in his ribs by both his best friends. _I guess that's the advantage of marriage. Double-power bullying._

"Seriously Harry, I though you had matured enough to know that you cannot be heard whining about the Victory Celebration." said a surprisingly un-McGonagall-ish voice that, even more surprisingly, did not belong to Hermione. "You have to grow up and think. You may not like it, but only good things can come out of it".

Now Harry was staring at Ron incredulously. He was Ron Weasley, who shared blood with heroic pranksters, dragon maniacs, course breakers, Quidditch stars and, well, and Percy. _It had to come from somewhere, I guess_. But still, it couldn't mean what he thought he meant, right? "Err, what?" was all the sputtering reply his shocked brain could come up with at the moment.

"Think about it Harry. After the war they let you skip Auror training, you lead a office of your own now, but if you had played your cards right, you'd be head of the MLE by now. Nobody can and will refuse you anything! Hell, they hardly refuse ME any rise I ask!" _My good he is even more patronising than Percy. And even more blind_. _They refuse to let me be, they practically coerced me into becoming an Auror. They refused to let me be my own person, they forced me to always be the hero. Forever. And I let them._

Despite his mutinous thoughts, Harry decided to reply with a non-committal grunt. They had reached their seats anyway, oh-so-conveniently placed right in the bloody middle of the fucking hall. After all, he was the chief monkey in this demented carousel. A seemingly endless amount of handshakes later, the speech part of the evening started. At least this year he had something to look forward too. Well, his conscience had, for his brain was arguing that he should have stayed at home. Or gone into hiding. Or at least built several new wards around his house.

"Witches and Wizards, Honourable Patrons, Distinguished Guest, tonight we are here to honour those who fought bravely and selflessly..." _seriously, who is this brown-nosing git. You can feel the capitalisation in his speech. This cannot bode well._ Harry stopped listening to the inane blabbering of the chubby and peculiarly bright yellow man who the Ministry had nominated Host and Speaker of the Celebration, and instead tried to focus his attention on locating the one person he was desperate to see. He-Who-The-Wizarding-World-Had-Conveniently-Decided-To-Forget. _Now, that is a deserving capitalisation, I should probably be the Host next year if I survive the next two hours!_

Harry had saved his life on this very night five years before. He had hoped they could build a relationship, or at least become acquaintances, Merlin knew they had so much pain and regrets to share. He tried, but his attempts were met with indifference at best. A carefully placed hex at worst, but he wasn't sure it had been aimed at him intentionally. _Well, he did say "Potter, I hope this hurts as well as serving as a memento to remember you to keep away from my presence", but it could have been a playful form of foreplay. Or a not-so-kind warning. It's not my fault he's confusing._

He had wanted to be forgotten. But Harry decided that, despite his wishes, the community that was always so busy honouring The-Boy-Who-Lived-Two-Times-In-A-Row should take the time to thank the bravest of them all. But their reluctance to bestow honours on the man was almost as strong as his reluctance to claim them. Maddening bastard. Harry was so proud of his skill in forcing the Ministry to recognise his accomplishments. It would be, at the very best, a first step in his long and overdue apology to the man. Or his cause of death. Either way, his conscience needed some rest from all the angst and guilt of the last five years.

He had to do it. Or so he kept reminding himself, while wondering where was the Bloody Bat. He had been a billowing presence in his life for seven years, and now he couldn't even spot him in a room full of lesser wizards? _Then again, he is the epitome of sneaky. Maybe it's a requirement to become a spy? Is there a spy guild? There should be one, he'd be president. James Bond would bow down to him and bring him his afternoon tea just to glimpse at some of his work. Does he drink tea? Do spies tell other unrelated spies that they are spies? Do they go on spying vacations together, stalking each other and hiding behind columns for fun? God I'm nervous, I haven't rambled that much in my own head since the Triwizard Tournament. And even then I wasn't this terrified._

"It is with great enthusiasm and pride therefore that the Right Honourable Ministry of Magic, together with..." _seriously, who says "great enthusiasm", __shouldn't it be felt, rather than narrated?__A__nd since when did the Ministry have __a__ title except, well, Ministry? __Was the British Wizarding society becoming too egalitarian or something? God, I'm talking politics now, this has to be a sign of the apocalypse._

"It is upon me to bestow the honour of the Order of Merlin, First Class, to one of the bravest man in the war". People started whispering at this. All the main honours had been assigned right after the war. How could it be possible that they missed someone. Hell, they even gave OoMs to the dead. Five years later, it was more a slap than a honour.

"And it is all due to the admirable work and intensive lobbying of our own true hero, Harry Potter, who provided the Ministry with detailed pensieve memories of all the good and heroic deeds this man has done. Without Harry Potter we would have certainly overlooked the fundamental effort made by ..." _Oh, shit shit shit. They weren't supposed to mention me. They weren't supposed to make it seem like I pleaded and blackmailed and Merlin-knows-what in order to give him what he deserved. What part of __"My involvement must remain confidential" did those fucking retards not understand? __Why are they all looking at me? Oh, yes, some moron on a centre stage mentioned my name in a room full of 599 stupid people and only a clever, albeit probably murderous, one. Isn't there a Dark Lord rising yet? I need the escapism __a war provides to heal my nerves._

"So let me proudly introduce you Mr. Severus Snape, Order of Merlin, First Class" the Speaker was, at this point, completely caught up in his self-induced adrenaline trance, so he was quite shocked by the lack of applause from the crowd, and by the ill-concealed whispers coming from all the tables. He was even more shocked when a tall and lanky man, face hidden by a thick curtain of black hair, appeared forbiddingly beside him.

"Mis... Mist... Mister Severus Snape" stuttered the now very uncomfortable moron while outstretching his arms presenting the OoM plaque, "would you like to say a couple of words to comment on this joyous occasion?" The Host seemed to finally realise that his bright yellow robes could make him a very easy target, or at least he gathered that much from a single glance at the extremely black and very irritated man in front of him.

"Professor Snape", were the only words the man spoke in response to the lengthy and clumsy introduction. _Forget politics, this is a sign of the apocalypse. God, it's starting, I can hear the horsemen approaching.  
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"I... I beg your pardon?" now the Host was positively petrified, while the gaping public, particularly those who had recently attended Hogwards or whose children had, started snickering politely and placing silent bets on the time it would take an angered Snape to make the idiotic yellow moth cry.

"While I am indubitably accustomed to imbeciles whilst teaching, I admit to be marginally surprised by the lack of preparation, propriety and professionalism by someone entrusted with such a delicate task. Although considering your employers, I cannot entirely accuse you for the new depths in incompetence you managed to reach by accomplishing such abysmal results." Now the crowd was actually glad of the money spent on tickets. Some perspicacious Ministry officials began considering that bestowing honours on Severus Snape and surrounding him with idiots at the same time could become a yearly occurrence, quite likely moderately lucrative too, considering the way the entire hall had collectively stopped breathing and hung on every word pronounced by the dark Potion Master.

The Ministry and his entourage were however fuming with rage, for they (and their electorate) understood the offence in the man's words. And Harry Potter was, well, as usual, too busy watching the scene in awe to notice how two cold obsidian eyes pierced into him. When he indeed noticed, it was way too late to hung his head in shame, proving once and for all to Snape that he was indeed a clone of his father, sent on this earth to torment and humiliate him. _No, no, no, keep looking at me. Hell, cast a silent Legilimens here, in front of everyone, I don't care if I scream and faint, just let me show __you __what I need you to know._

Snape snapped the price from the still confused Speaker, and quickly made his way away from the centre stage, his robes billowing ominously. _Have they ever billowed happily, or at least unalarmingly? Isn't ominous a tautology when accosted with Snape? _After an excruciating minute of silence, the band crew decided to save the day (and the Host's nerves) by starting almost an hour earlier with the music programme and by urging people to dance. After all, any speech after that intense exchange would have been anticlimactic, and nobody in their right mind would ask Snape to make a speech, even disregarding the evening events so far. Most of the crowd felt like sliced up potions ingredients right now anyway, it was simply suicidal to actively try to become one. And so they danced. _Cowards_.

Harry was in agony. He left the table abruptly immediately after the fist note had escaped from the violin, and started a frantic chase of his former Potions Professor. He left behind the accusing glares and wrinkled brow of Hermione, Ron's amused expression, Neville's own ghosts from the past and Luna's curiously omniscient wave. He run like the building was on fire, only he run upstairs, desperate to reach the third floor balcony, where an apparition room was set up for those wishing to leave the ceremony early.

As he got there, his hearth stopped when he saw Snape entering the room and closing the door. With a desperate leap forward, he burst into the room and instinctively tried to grab Snape's robes in order to stop the man from apparating away and disappearing perhaps forever. _Please don't let me be to late. Please don't let me miss him by milliseconds, I couldn't take it._

In his haste he tripped, his hand grabbing desperately anything that could keep Snape from leaving his side forever, anything that would give them a chance to speak. _In public hopefully, or at least within hearing distance from some trusted witnesses._

But it was too late. As soon as his hands touch the hem of his robes, an unknowing Potions Master popped away with a distressed Auror in tow.


	2. Chromatic Victory

**As he got there, his heart stopped when he saw Snape entering the room and closing the door. With a desperate leap forward, he burst into the room and instinctively tried to grab Snape's robes in order to stop the man from apparating away and disappearing perhaps forever. **_**Please don't let me be too late. Please don't let me miss him by milliseconds, I couldn't take it.**_

**In his haste he tripped, his hand grabbing desperately anything that could keep Snape from leaving his side forever, anything that would give them a chance to speak. **_**In public hopefully, or at least within hearing distance from some trusted witnesses.**_

**But it was too late. As soon as his hands touched the hem of his robes, an unknowing Potions Master popped away with a distressed Auror in tow.**

Pain. Excruciating pain. _Really, of all the stupid ways to die_. Harry could feel the panic rising, and he realised that the pain was coming from his lower abdomen. It was like – _Oh shit, I am splinching. I don't want to splinch, I need my feet, my legs, my di... well, I need everything there is down there. _Apparition was a matter of seconds, so Harry forced his panic away and concentrated instead on keeping his body together. He didn't quite know what he was doing, but he focused entirely on Snape, on the feeling of his (surprisingly soft) robe. The pain lessened somewhat. _In for a penny, in for a pound_. Harry started to push his magic toward Snape, trying to establish a connection that would keep him from a very unpleasant death.

All of a sudden, there was no pain. Well, for a glorious millisecond there was no pain. As Harry's back hit a stone pavement there was a new fresh bucket of pain to be introduced to. Not as excruciating as an almost-but-thankfully-not-quite-so-there splinch though. _And quite possibly not quite as painful as what Snape has in store for me._ _Well, maybe I exaggerate. Maybe he'll just let me explain, let me apologise. And then he'll understand. We'll have tea together. I wonder if he is more of an Earl Grey or a Prince of Wales kind of person. Yes, yes, everything is going to be just..._

"Have you completely lost even the little amount of sense you used to possess?" Harry tried not to whimper or feel like an 11 year old meeting Snape for the first time, but it was hard to do so when lying butt-down on the floor with the Professor dangerously towering over him, apparently unscathed by the impromptu side-along apparition. "Do you not understand that, had I not been the wizard I am, and had your magic been as weak as your capacity to make sensible decisions, we could have died?" _Ok, no tea. But maybe he will kill me quickly. Maybe he will just AK me instead of torturing me for hours._

"Erm..." Harry's brain was in panic. Hell, he almost felt his bowel forgetting how to work. He was almost certain he couldn't breathe, and was actually quite sure that only the furious pummelling of his heart was keeping him alive. Not that that was in anyway comforting, since Snape had so many ways to make it stop working that he couldn't even begin to catalogue them.

"Eloquent as ever I see, even in your arrogance" Snape mocked coldly. _Shit, he isn't even yelling. I am so dead_. "Now, show some sort of self-preservation and get out". Harry froze. Leave, now, with so much unsaid, with so many apologies due? So much to beg for, forgiveness to start with, but so much more? Suddenly torture did seem a lot more appealing. He would not leave. He would not be forced to leave. He will do what he had waited to do for the last five years. He had dreaded it at the beginning, but now he was looking forward to it. He needed it. He'll get it.

Harry slowly stood up, noticing that he was still shorter than the Professor since he had to strain his neck a bit in order to really look him in the eyes, like he always had to do, to some extent. _Shit those eyes_. They were flashing with so much anger, so much resentment, so much... loneliness? Could it be? Could the fury be so encompassing that Snape would let his mask down, even momentarily? _Or it could be the Champagne I drank. Yes. And that would also mean that I can blame it for every stupid thing I did tonight so far. Good. Great. Blame it all on the French and their stupid alcohol that gets you drunk with just two small sips. Damn, he is expecting me to say something. Stop rambling Harry, focus._

"Is this your house sir?" did seem like an innocent enough conversation starter. _Or I could have made a comment about the weather. Yes, Snape is the perfect person to do some companionable small talk with. _Evidently Snape was sharing Harry's opinion, at least judging by the way his nostrils flared and his eyes became tiny slits of hatred.

"Get. Out" Snape's voice now had that dangerous undertone Harry recognised from his Occlumency lessons. The one that promised painful deaths and lots of pain. Interesting enough, it was also what Snape was picturing in his mind. Vividly.

"Sir, please, let me explain..." _Shit, this is not boding well if I am begging so early in the conversation. _

"Why should I do such a thing? You decided to humiliate me in front of the whole wizarding community, and then, a couple of minutes later, you attempt to kill me! What is there to explain?" Snape sneered. _Oh shit, sneering already. And he doesn't understand_.

"I didn't mean to, it.."

"Do yourself a favour Potter and shut your miserable mouth. You are not welcome here. Get. Out" Snape turned on his heels, effectively shutting the conversation, at least in his mind. He was livid, he hadn't been this furious since at least two of the Marauders were still alive. He was trying to keep his temper in check for the boy, well, young man's sake, but he knew he had at best a couple of minutes before the explosion. He just wanted to get drunk and be alone. And get rid of all the Potters still alive. Thankfully, there was just one. This one. _Easy_.

Harry squared his shoulders. This was going to be a battle of wills, one he had to win. He fought Riddle, surely he could make Snape talk to him. _At the very least talk, please, I need you_! "Sir, I am afraid I cannot do that". He did hope he sounded braver that he felt.

Snape snapped so fast that he caught even himself by surprise. "You cannot? Are you indeed so incompetent that you cannot gracelessly disapparate back to your extensive fan festival? Are you..."

"Please Sir, I thought we were past this, you know I don't like..." Harry had never felt so hopeless. Snape still though he liked all the attention, all the fame, the glory, the bullshitting idiots that kissed the ass of the Boy-Who-Won but never took the time to listen to Harry. _Why can't he see me. He, of all people, should be able to see what's hidden behind the mask. Hell, he probably invented ways to hide pain, he should be able to recognise some when others use them. Of all the subjects he had to be bad at, the irritating bastard._

"You dare interrupt me and disrespect me in my own home, tonight of all nights?" Snape was beside himself. The rat, the miserable rat had the gull to make assumptions on their non-existent relationship?

"It was not my intention sir, but..." _please listen to me_.

"Sure it wasn't. Get out. Quietly if you can". Snape even allowed himself a brief second of respite to indicate the door, making it known that, should he want to apparate away, he'd have to do it outside, in the rain, whilst drowning like a dog, hopefully.

"No" said Harry. Not the best answer, but that was the point, wasn't it? Stay here, for as long as it took to make the man see reason. To make the man see HIM, Harry. Not Potter. Not Lily's son. Harry. Just Harry.

"No?" Snape's voice was practically solid, deadly ice now. _Why did the yelling make me feel safer. Why does his voice make me want to back away and die or leap forward and kiss him at the same time?_

"I'm sorry sir, no". _Polite resolution, I can do it_.

Snape was speechless. Of all the stupid impudent things the brat had done over the sorry years he had had the misfortune of knowing him, this was probably the most malign one. All of tonight events, all done to rub his face into something he knew he couldn't even dare to hope. And now, breaking and entering and then having the gull to refuse to leave his sanctuary. His rage, his loathing, his hatred, were soaking all of this like fire does to oxygen.

Harry was at loss. The man wasn't listening to him, and he knew that, in this state, there was nothing he could say or do to make him do so. He had to wait until the man calmed down a (considerable) bit before hoping to be heard. But his presence there was preventing the man to calm down in the first place. It was an impossible conundrum. He could either stay there, and make Snape hate him even more than usual, thus leading the way to a premature swift death. Or he could leave, and probably never see the man again, thus embarking on a slow and painful path that eventually would lead to his death anyway. _What do I do?. How can I win this?_

Snape's thoughts were of a more vicious nature. All his instincts told him to kill the very idiotic and extremely irritating person in front of him. His brain was toying with the first word of the killing course. Avada. Such an unassuming, powerful, beautiful cluster of five letters. It was also the part of the incantation that carried the majority of the power. Kedavra was the consequence, from a bastardisation of the Latin "cadaver", an elaboration of the verb "cadere", to fall. Avada was the action, Kedavra was merely the effect. Cadaver, also coming from the Latin acronym CAro DAta VERmibus, meat fed to vermin. Which was exactly what he wanted to do to Harry Potter right now. _Oh, isn't it lovely when etymology expresses your darkness desires._

The two men stared at each other for some excruciating seconds. Harry silently pleaded the man to listen to him, to allow him to apologise. Snape silently pleaded fate and luck for the ability to keep his temper in check before landing himself to Azkaban. But then he snapped.

Harry had just enough time to realise what was happening before finding himself dragged towards the door. He tried to fight it, he even dragged his heels like a toddler, but apparently Snape hadn't let the five years of relative peace mollify him. He was still strong. _Bloody strong. What does he do all day, eat spinach and lift weights?_ All too soon, they were in front of a dark brown wooden door. With a flick of his wand Snape pulled it open, and Harry could feel the wind and some droplets of cold rain touching his cheek.

"I trust you have mastered Apparation a long time ago. Should you incompetence encompass even more of the magical realm than I realised feel free to start walking. Either way, I want you out of my property now" and with a final push Harry found himself falling again, this time on wet gravel and mud. _As if I haven't fallen enough times on my ass for a single evening, both figuratively and literally_. Trembling, he raised his head just in time to see a last sneer on Snape's face. He did seem to take pleasure in watching Harry gaping in shock. For a brief moment, it seemed almost as he was enjoying his humiliation. _Or maybe he is simply admiring his victory. Yes, you cold hearted prick. You have won. Rejoice. Do a victory dance or whatever it is that bats do when they celebrate something._

So, as swiftly as it had started, the struggle ended. Snape turned around without a second glance and slammed the door shut. And then he was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

For a couple of minutes, or several lifetimes, everything in Harry's head went blank. He couldn't think, couldn't process any form of coherent thought – or incoherent for that matter. He couldn't even feel. Nothingness in his heart, nothingness in his head, nothingness on the outside. He could just stay as he was, immobile and unblinking, lying in front of the cruelly shut door in front of him. But he wasn't staring at it. He didn't notice the ancient heavy handle, he didn't even watch curiously as soft glimmers of light flickered through the large key hole.

He was numb. And wet. _Why is there so much water dripping from my clothes? _It was the rain that eventually brought him back to reality. But he wasn't exactly appreciative of the merits of the weather, nor of the fact that he had awoken in the middle of a British spring shower. _Who came up with the word "shower"? Bloody optimists. Rain in this godforsaken country is never gentle or welcome. It's a fucking deluge_. Feeling his anger refuelling his strength, Harry stood up and tried to clean some of the gravel that had stuck to the back of his robes. While he did manage to get rid of the tiny rocks, there was nothing to be done about the mud, except for letting the rain do the job for him. Not that he was going to let that happen.

With a last glance at the door, Harry turned around, and started making his way out of Snape's garden. _He has a garden? With the wee gravel path? I can even make out some flower beds. I wonder what else he has... Garden gnomes? A statue of himself used as a scarecrow? If I find a swing here I swear I am going to take a picture and get it published on the front page of the Daily Prophet. "Evil spy and celebrated war hero swings to blow off potions' steam". It'll serve the bastard right!_ As the rain didn't seem to give him mercy, Harry took out his wand with the intention of casting a Scourgify spell followed by a Warming and Impermeability charm. _Screw Wingardium Leviosa. We live in Britain. Hogwards is in Scotland. The first thing they should have thought us in school was how to build a waterproof shield around ourselves_.

And then he froze. Wand in hand he stood there, eyes and sense locked on a fixed area in front of him while his Auror-trained senses went into overload. Because being an Auror didn't just mean wearing obnoxious red robes, or having a badge, or working with testosterone-driven apes. It mean having an in-depth understanding of wards. He might have skipped Auror training, but in his first year on the force he followed the best and sharpest around the country in a mad chase of rogue Death Eaters. And the fuckers knew how to protect their properties. Which meant that after the first few painful de-wardings, Harry learned to sense them, to see the spells in place and predicts their effects. _Well, it was more than a few, but who's counting now. Well, except for Williamson, but he always loved to make fun of my shortcoming whilst "introducing me to the way things are done in Auror Land". _

So, here he was, gaping in awe at the masterly work in front of him. It wasn't just regular warding. Even the one in place around his house paled in comparison to this. And they had to keep out all the scary people who still wanted his hide, plus the even scarier fans and their enhanced libidos. He even used to pride himself with having one of the most thorough systems in place. _Especially after the episode involving Mrs. Weasley's book club ladies, spiked Butterbeer and an open floo. Didn't want a repeat of that ever again_. _My nightmares were bad enough already without being plagued by hordes of horny middle aged witches._

So, yes, his wards were good. But these... These were pure art. Magical art. His trained eyes could see, when focused as they were now, the intricacies of the patterns, the shades of colour lingering around the traces left by the spells. The greens entwined with the blues, making the entire property unseen from the outside. The majestic gold, making the wards almost unbreakable, except by those wearing random items of clothing chosen by the spell caster. The purple and cheeky pink, the sneakiest of them all, as they had the property of making those who wanted to break the wards forget what they were doing and feel a desperate need of disapparating to Barcelona for ordering a platter of fish. _Lestrange Manor had this one. The fish was lovely though, if a bit overpriced. Williamson agreed with me, should it happen again we'll just go straight for the octopus, no more of that let's-try-a-bit-of-everything nonsense._ _Now I know who put it in place for dear Rodolphus. Who'd have thought that the Bat from the Dungeons had a sense of humour. And a taste for good cuisine. And a kind soul, he could have had us disapparating in the middle of a volcano. He probably rescues kittens during his weekend off. Do spies get vacation days? Sick leave? Shit, Harry, focus, I want to understand this beauty._

However, the spells were so many and of such an intricate nature that Harry couldn't even hope to recognise them all. He suddenly felt immeasurably stupid, standing at the verge of his former Potions Professor's garden, wand in hand and face up, staring at something invisible to most while the entire Atlantic Ocean was pouring down on his face. Shaking his head, and blaming the repeated exposure to the Cruciatus curse for his stupidity, he started the wand movement for the Scougify spell.

And then he froze one more time. His heart pummelling, he tried to catch again what he had seen with his peripheral vision. It was impossible, and yet it had been there. A shade of brown in the dark. Chocolate in the night, the hardest thing to see. But he had seen it. And now, concentrating again and blocking all the colours that his intense scrutiny brought up, he could distinctively make it out. The Magus Ward. It was not something unheard of, theoretically. But it was something that had not been put in place for ages. He just knew about it because of the serious research on wards he embarked on after a painful experience involving crabs whilst de-warding Rookwood's summer house. _Didn't want THAT to happen again. I couldn't pee for a week after a vicious bite. And I had to sleep under a Cushioning Charm to keep the stinging at bay in all the other areas. Fucking shellfish._

The Magus Ward, also known as the Brown Snake. The ultimate protection. It detected any form of magic performed from anyone but the caster and those he decided to allow. But that was not the point, many wards could do the very same thing. After the magic was detected, the Magus Ward would Obliviate the intruding wizards of all of the events that led to the intrusion. And then, as the proverbial cherry on top of a fucked-up cake, the ward would displace the wizards to the place they were at before they even started to consider planning the intrusion, so that the obliviation could go unnoticed. _Which means that if I so much were to cast a Warming charm, or even as I try to apparate, I'll forget I was here. I'll forget about meeting Snape tonight. I'll forget he may own a swing. Not bloody likely._

For the second time in the evening, Harry was facing an impossible decision. He couldn't leave magically, or he'll forget it all. But he couldn't even leave normally, since he was pretty sure that, once outside the warded enclosure, he'd never be able to locate it again. _Well, I didn't want to leave in the first place. In your face, Snape! You'll have to get rid of me the old fashion way. Murder._

Harry couldn't help but staring at the Brown Snake a bit longer. It was sneaky indeed. The colour of the warding and the arabesque lines of the spell itself. It really was beautiful. And difficult to appreciate, for he could see it only when the colourful sparkle of the other wards would reflect on their shaded counterpart. The books where all unanimous on saying that the spell and the wand movement for the Magus Ward were long since lost. The last instance in which it was seen in action took place, according to the vast majority of historians, in Godric's Hollow when the grand-grandmother of Bathilda Bagshot moved there. _A gazillion years ago then._ _Which leads to a question: where has Snape learned it? And why didn't he share it with anyone. _

Of course, since he was after all a goody goody spy, he wouldn't have shared it with Voldemort. But he could have done so with Dumbledore. Hell, the Brown Snake had no de-warding spell. Once in place, only the caster could take it down. It was just as powerful as Blood wards. _Which means that I could have been spared a childhood chez le Dursleys. Had I known this, I could have lived everywhere and I could have been as protected as a baby centaur in its mother's womb._

He couldn't help it. He still felt a longing for something that never was. For a childhood that was never truly miserable, but never remotely happy either. And he couldn't help it, but he started dwelling on the hypothetical different sorts of solace that his infant soul could have known. _And the bastard kept it all to himself_.

Then again, secrecy was the strength and weakness of this spell. Because it could only work if the intruder didn't know of its existence, and thus couldn't try to keep himself from doing any magic. And this was the reason that led to its supposed extinction. Nobody could tell they knew it, otherwise the intruders would know that it was in place, and resorted to knives instead of killing courses. So, could he blame Snape, really, for keeping it a secret? _Yes, a bit. He could have trusted Dumbledore. Or maybe did he put it in place especially to have a save heaven from Dumbledore? All that twinkling could get annoying._

After a while though, even the beauty of the Magus Ward started to get dull. Then again, most things have a tendency to get old fast if you are standing in the middle of fucking nowhere during a thunderstorm. Harry was extremely wet, extremely cold and extremely aggravated. He couldn't protect himself magically, he couldn't find shelter around the property, since he didn't know what some of the wards did, and he didn't want to risk it. He couldn't knock on the door and ask for refuge, since he wasn't suicidal yet. He was powerless, stuck in a very British sort of hell. And he was wet.

Suddenly he felt a wave of despair leaving his soul and entering his consciousness. Snape was as far away as ever, his attempts to get closer to the man had only managed to make him even more distant. _No news there._ And yet he felt a pathetic need for the man. He craved him. His company. His words. _Better if kind, but I'll even settle for belittlement right now_. His face. His hair. _And I think Ron is mental sometimes._ His voice. His hands. His nose. His dick. _Holy shit, don't go there again, that has to remain confined to dreams and wanking fantasies. If he ever finds this out, Dementors won't be a deterrent strong enough to make him reconsider murder. Fuck, I hope my occlumency improved over the years._

He had none of it now. No Snape. No angry Potions Professor. No brooding spy. No war hero. No comrade in arms. No injured soul to compare his hurt with. Nobody there with him. Only loneliness. The ever present loneliness that seemed a constant in his life. Alone as a child. Alone as a hero. Alone as a man. Alone as a heart. Alone in the rain. Lonely as ever. He found himself standing in front of the wooden door once again. This time his brain wasn't merciful enough to shut itself down. He could think. He could feel. Helpless, he sunk down to his knees, warm tears becoming tepid once mixed with the May rain.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hello there! Firstly, I'd like to thank you all for the reviews. I replied with a PM to those I could. Allow me to thank you again, as well as thanking those who have disabled private messages. And I also would like to thank all of those who have put this story under Story Alert or Favourite. Thank you, thank you, thank you, your appreciation has made my week!

Secondly, I'd like to apologise for the slow update. I had intended to post this chapter the day after the first, two days tops. But then my supervisor kindly requested (ordered) me to hand in the first chapter of my thesis. Have you ever heard anything so outrageous? Complete chapters as the deadline approaches. Unbelievable! Anyway, that's water under the bridge now, so the third chapter ought to be faster.

Thirdly, I apologise for some orthographic mistakes in the first chapter. I use Word spell-checker, of course, but unfortunately it doesn't detect words that are spelled wrong but spell a real word at the same time. Combine that with my dyslexia, and obtain a slightly odd couple of sentences. I read through all my written pieces compulsively, but, alas, I am not infallible. The horror!


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